“Thank you for the mental image,” I said, averting my gaze from everything, while I tried to avert my ears from everything at the same time.

“Leth me. Thnaketh are awful, they’re horrifying and they eat rodentth, but I don’t think I’d do that. And I don’t think I’d keep texthting him unleth I was very, very drunk.”

“Okay,” Tattletale said. “Good.”

“What do you think?” I asked her.

“I think I’m sixty percent certain this is weird.”

Only sixty percent? I thought, raising an eyebrow.

“…In terms of the weirdness we’re investigating. If it is weirdness we’re investigating and this isn’t a regular incident, then it’s a fifty percent chance that Ratcatcher here sent the first messages, and they sent everything after he responded to tell her to quit it.”

Ratcatcher reacted to that, head pulling back a bit.

“Otherwise, they fabricated it all.”

“You think that thomeone else thent thethe methageth?”

“Yes,” Tattletale said. “There’s a very good chance that someone else sent these. Tell me what happened after.”

“I went, they thaid to clean out my locker. They were nithe about it. Very polite but very careful.”

“Careful?” I asked.

“By the bookth. Procedureth in plathe.”

“Has this sort of thing happened to you before?” I asked.

Ratcatcher shrugged, shook her head. The shake was forceful enough that the bent portion of her mask flipped over to be bent the other way. “But I’ve been in trouble before. I get how it goeth.”

“But they’ve had trouble before,” Tattletale said. “Countenance has. There’s a history there and this attack was built to attack that weak point.”

“You sound pretty definitive at this point. No percentages?”

Tattletale shook her head. “I’m pretty darn sure.”

I looked over at Ratcatcher. I tapped her phone at the hinge. “This wasn’t you.”

“Hm,” She made a sound. Her nose dropped. “I’m not thure that maketh me feel better.”

“I get it,” I said. “It’s invasive. Violating.”

“No,” she said. “I don’t care about that. That’th the game we play.”

“It shouldn’t be,” I said. “I prefer the good old days, when cape against cape fights wouldn’t dig any deeper than the surface level. Costume against costume, no wounds that went beyond cuts, scrapes and bruises, unless they upped the ante first.”

“That’s stupid,” Tattletale said. “Nothing’s surface level. Our powers are intertwined with us, and we’re bringing all of our shit to the table when we go toe to toe with someone. Pit your powers against their powers, and you’re digging into your own shit while they’re doing the same, going back to what used to be the worst day of your life, you’re flinging that shit. To win your fights you need to know your enemy, but to do that you can’t stop at the surface.”